


Road Trip

by Below_Average_Fangirl



Series: Smut with Skurge [2]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor Ragnarok - Fandom
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Below_Average_Fangirl/pseuds/Below_Average_Fangirl
Summary: Skurge shows up to whisks you off for a weekend getaway. You have some fun in the car on the way
Relationships: Skurge | The Executioner/Reader, Skurge/Reader
Series: Smut with Skurge [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764091
Kudos: 10





	Road Trip

It had been 6 weeks since the sexual adonis had shown up at your bar. Every Friday since then he would turn up, like clockwork, drink until closing, and then fuck you till you couldn’t walk. He only ever stayed till Saturday night and having to wait a whole week to see him again was becoming torture. 

The only thing you knew about him was his name, Skurge. Everything else was sketchy. He was vague about what he did for a living, but what he did for a living was not how he made his money. He had a few family heirlooms which he would sell now and again to get some cash. And it was impossible to reach him when he was out of town. You were beginning to wonder how long you could carry on with him like this when a thunderous knock on the door of the fire exit started you. 

"Jesus."

You stood up from behind your desk heart pounding as you made your way to the small hallway to the fire exit. You pushed the door open. 

"What!" But your anger died on your lips when you saw it was the 6'1 sex God making all the racket. "Hey." 

"Morning beautiful." He said smiling as he gave you a kiss, his hand finding its way to your arse. 

You moaned into his mouth, "You're early for our rendezvous?" You beamed as you pulled apart, "You miss me?"

"I always miss ya, sweetheart,” You blushed as he continued, “which is why I’ve come to whisk you away for your weekend.” Stepping aside you saw for the first time the 1965 Pontiac GTO convertible, in a garish mustard yellow, behind him. You looked back at Skurge who was beaming with pride. 

“What, right now?” You queried, careful not to dampen his joy.

“Yeah. I sold a load of useless old tat that the antique dealers just fell over themselves for.” He held up a duffle bag he was holding. “I am swimming in money. Let's go spend it.”

“But I-I can’t just leave. I can’t just close the bar for a whole weekend. I barely make enough money to keep this place going as it is.”

Skurge zipped open the duffle bag. “Alright. How much do ya normally make Friday to Sunday?” He held up a wad of cash. It barely dented what was in there, “$5000 cover it?”

You spluttered in disbelief. “What the hell did you sell?”

He shrugged. “Some Viking amulets apparently,” He handed the money to you. “So is this enough?”

You flipped through the bills in your hand, it was all real. “I mean it's more than enough.”

“Great.” He enthused, “So close up and let's go.”

You stood there open-mouthed. Your rational mind listing all the reasons why this was irresponsible. But then he gave you that soft look and charming smile as he placed a palm to your cheek. 

“Let me make up for all those times I've had to run out on ya.” 

Your closed your eyes as his thumb traced the outline of your bottom lip and your heartbeat quickened when you felt his breath on your ear, his voice low and husky as he spoke.

“Let me treat ya like a Queen.”

***

You grinned from ear to ear as the Pontiac thundered down the highway. Top-down, sun shining, the wind in your hair. 

After leaving the standard Closed for Personal Business sign in the window of the bar, Skurge had honked the horn urging you to hurry, you’d shouted from the doorway that you needed to pack. But he’d simply held up the duffle bag of cash and shouted. “I’ll buy ya a whole new wardrobe if I need to. Let’s hit the road.” 

As you leaned back into the leather seat you turned your head to look at Skurge. He was smiling, happy, as he sang along to some soft rock on the radio, his long elegant fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Your eyes drifted across his tanned arm, exposed as the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbow. You watched, fascinated, as the muscles flexed at his movements. You bit your lip. 

After shifting gear he rested his hand on your bare knee. His fingertips draw small circles against your skin. Placing a hand on top of his you smiled at him wickedly and guided his hand up your leg. As he slipped his hand under your short dress his fingers trailed along your inner thigh. You squirmed in the seat. His eyes flitted between the straight road laid out before him and the expanse of skin exposed as your dress rode up your body. Just as his fingertips reached your panties he removed his hand to shift gear again. You pouted at him as he gave you a wicked grin in return.

Pushing your dress up further you hook your thumbs into the elastic of your panties and lift your bum off the seat. Shuffling you push your underwear down your legs and over your shoes, Skurge had stopped looking at the road and watched you intently. You held your panties up in the air, like a flag of surrender, before allowing the wind to rip them from your grip. Parting your legs you took hold of Skurge’s arm and guided his hand back between your legs. 

“Don’t tease your queen.”

He marvelled at your forthrightness. “Yes, your majesty.”

Slipping a finger into your cunt and he began to move it slowly against your clit. You arched your back at his touch, the leather of the seat creaking as you moved and moaned in pleasure. 

“Eyes on the road mister.”

“Don’t worry babe I got ya,” and he slipped another finger into you, “you’re in safe hands.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as he increased the pace of his fingers against your clit. “Mmm,” You groaned, “and such magical hands.”

As you neared your orgasm you could hear the engine begin to rev. It needed to be shifted into another gear and you could feel Skurge was about to remove his fingers from you but you grabbed his wrist to hold his hand in place between your legs. You heard him laugh, low and deep in his throat but he kept his hand in there.

The engine of the Pontiac began to scream, crying out for the gear to be shifted. As he increased the speed of his strokes your breathing became ragged and your hand reached out to grab his leg, the fabric of his jeans between your fingers. You moved your hips back and forth to help push you over the edge and in a few more strokes you climaxed, your strangled cries snatched from your throat and carried away by the wind. 

Skurge removed his fingers from between your legs and you giggled. “Fuck.” You breathed as you came to your senses, realizing what you had just done at almost 70 miles per hour. 

Feel drunk on your orgasm you glanced over at Skurge and saw him licking your juices from his fingers. "Nothing tastes as good as you darlin’."

Smiling you leaned across the car, "You have served your queen well," you purred and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips, "now let me reward my faithful servant." Grinning as your fingers worked to loosen his belt buckle.


End file.
